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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28507740">A Promise</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/blu3boi/pseuds/blu3boi'>blu3boi</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dungeons and Daddies (Podcast)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Depression, Heavy Angst, Hurt, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, is this a bunch of projection packaged as a fic?, lylt you asked for angst, perhaps, the most bittersweet comfort, this one hurts guys</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 18:47:32</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,844</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28507740</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/blu3boi/pseuds/blu3boi</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Grant and Darryl have a chat on a drive home.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Carol Wilson &amp; Grant Wilson, Darryl Wilson &amp; Grant Wilson</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Secret Sons Fanfic Exchange</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>A Promise</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>TW: there is talk of s/h and intrusive thoughts in this fic. if that’s not for you please skip this one and move on to a more lighthearted fic in this collection. anyway! lylt you asked for angst and you get angst</p><p>prompt: "I want angst. Stay within your comfort limits ofc, but ANGST. Grant angst perhaps, or oak angst"</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><br/>
<span>“Grant? Are you up yet sweetie? Your dad’s gonna be here in about twenty minutes and you have to be ready to go by then.” A soft voice calls from behind Grant’s bedroom door. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sorry, I was sleeping in.” </span>
  <em>
    <span>A lie. </span>
  </em>
  <span>“I’ll be ready in a little bit, thanks mom.” His voice tries to resemble some semblance of the voice his mom is familiar with. Tries to recreate what he sounded like before they left for the soccer trip. It’s not convincing yet.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Making no attempt to get up, Grant stays laying in bed, staring at the ceiling. Ever since he’s been back home things haven’t felt right. The divorce doesn’t help, is just another violent shift in his life he has no control over. Control is hard to find when you’re still a kid. When your parents fell out of love years ago and are just now dealing with their problem. When every other week you have to see a stranger, trying to figure out where to even start with explaining everything that’s wrong with you. Why you’re so jumpy and anxious, being diagnosed with ptsd despite it seeming like nothing traumatic has happened in your life. Control is something Grant Wilson doesn’t have. Becoming a bystander in his own life. Saying all the things to make the adults around him think he’s getting better even when “better” probably doesn’t exist. Taking the medications, talking to the doctors, trying so hard to be normal. Get back to the way life used to be. When he was happy and when danger didn’t live in every dark corner of his room. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Taking a deep breath, Grant finally gets out of bed. The Sandman must be forgetting to visit him as this is his second night in a row where he’s had almost no sleep. Just tossing and turning in sheets, his mind refusing to stay quiet. Scratching at his forearm, Grant looks for a clean sweatshirt, scanning the clothes that lay on the bedroom floor. Grant prefers the bigger ones, likes how they make his body disappear into baggy cloth. Eventually he finds a larger hoodie, probably one of Terry’s he stole, slipping it on over his head. The debate of whether he wants to bother with wearing actual pants today or not is decided for him as Carol knocks on his door again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Grant! Your dad is here. Are you ready to go?” Carol calls once again from behind the door.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah I’m good.” He answers, remembering to put on deodorant before he exits his room.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Giving Grant's messy bedhead a tussle, Carol frowns a little. “Are those the sweatpants you wore to bed?” Grant nods a little, Carol sighs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is- your medication is working, right Grant?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Dunno.” Grant answers bluntly. “I’m not a doctor mom.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Mmh, I guess not…” She gives a sad smile, pushing Grant’s hair out of his face so she can press a soft kiss to his forehead. “I’ll stop bugging you with questions sweetie. I love you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Love you too.” He echos. “Dad’s probably waiting so I should go.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Right,” she laughs softly, “have fun then. Remember, I’m picking you up on Wednesday so look for my car.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Grant nods, hesitating slightly before giving Carol a quick hug.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Sitting in the passenger seat of his father’s new car is strange. It feels different, feels wrong. Just another reminder that things have changed. Head looking out the window, sticking out ever so slightly so he can feel the wind on his face, Grant is hoping his dad won’t try to talk to him. It’s weird not wanting his dad to ask him how he’s doing. Not even a year go Grant would’ve loved for Darryl to try and talk to him. Actually talk, not the whole “what are you learning in school?” talks. Now though, Grant can’t think of anything worse than having to talk to his dad about how he’s doing. A guilt comes with explaining that he’s not better. Grant doesn’t want to make Darryl feel bad because he can’t help. It hurts his dad less when Grant hides his feelings. It’s not like they haven’t talked but all the talks always end with </span>
  <em>
    <span>both </span>
  </em>
  <span>of them being sad. Grant would prefer if he was the only sad one. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So…” Darryl turns down the radio as he starts talking. Grant gives a small sigh, pulling his head back into the car so he can hear the same questions over again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How’s therapy going for you champ?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Fine.” He answers immediately, continuing to stare out the window. “How’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>your </span>
  </em>
  <span>therapy going?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Darryl gives a hum, wanting to address the “fine” and also answer Grant’s question.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Therapy is going good. I’m probably not gonna be able to go again until next year. Insurance and all that adult stuff.” Tapping his fingers against the steering wheel, Darryl glances over to Grant.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you mean by fine though Grant?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Grant’s hands snake up into his sleeve as he goes to snap the rubber bracelet on his wrist.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s whatever ya know? My therapist said I </span>
  <em>
    <span>probably </span>
  </em>
  <span>don’t have to go to a psych ward which is cool.” The snap of the rubber on his wrist doesn’t hurt much, the sound is satisfying though. Something calming to do while he talks.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That is cool Grant!” Darryl says with a little too much enthusiasm, quickly quieting back down. Grant rolls his eyes, the snap of his bracelet remaining as the only sound in the car for a long time. It’s hard to try and segway into what he actually wants to talk about regarding Grant’s therapy. Though, Darryl is pretty sure there really is no smooth way to start talking about that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Um… Grant, I’m only asking you this cause your therapist brought it up but…” The snapping stops, Grant looking over to Darryl for the first time this whole ride.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Do you hurt yourself?</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The weight of Darryl’s question, </span>
  <em>
    <span>accusation,</span>
  </em>
  <span> it hits hard. The air in Grant’s lungs evacuates his body at his father's words. So many thoughts run through his head. Grant feels sick, like a rock is stuck in the bottom of his stomach and at the base of his throat. So much shame fills his body as he sinks into the passenger seat, eyes looking at the people in the cars next to them. How all those families are having normal conversations. That other 14 year old boys only have to worry about their dad finding out they watch porn. Not this. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Going to open his mouth to say something, Grant quickly closes it. Biting down on his lip, trying his best to not start crying in the car, Grant closes his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>My therapist said he wouldn’t tell you.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” He manages to say, his words mumbled and quiet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>I-I’ve thought about it… I’ve never done anything though. S-sorry.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The silence in the car is deafening, only the sound of the engine rumbling. Unable to see his father solemnly nod his head, Grant continues to keep his eyes shut. Wishing he was anywhere but here, Grant feels like he’s gonna throw up. It becomes clear that Darryl wasn’t ready to have this conversation by his lack of an answer. All Grant can do is sit in the nothingness, head full of what his father could be thinking about him. Would he be mad? Upset? Maybe he’ll actually put Grant in a psych ward. Not allow him to be by himself, lock up all the drawers in the kitchen. Maybe he’s disappointed. So unhappy with Grant that he can’t even talk to him. He could always think that he’s lying about only thinking about it. So many thoughts crowd Grant’s head, deafening his brain, it’s all too much. Too much pressure and noise in his head.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Are you mad at me?</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Grant mumbles, face hot with embarrassment. A part of him is upset he said anything to his therapist. It’s not like he would do anything. The thoughts are intrusive at best and Grant tries not to dwell on them for too long. Now he’s just making his dad worried and upset for no reason. This is his fault he can feel it in his soul.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Grant I could never be mad at you, especially about this.” Darryl finally breaks the silence, giving some relief to Grant.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I love you so much okay bud? You don’t have to feel bad or ashamed about this.” Reaching his hand over to Grant, Darryl sets his hand on his son’s shoulder, giving it a squeeze.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll always love you Grant, no matter what. I promise you that kiddo.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Now is when Grant finally breaks down. Crying always made him feel weak. It felt wrong to cry, especially in front of his dad. Even though he’s seen Darryl cry before he can’t help but feel broken when he cries. Like some leaky faucet that needs to be repaired. Holding his hoodie sleeve over his face, trying in vain to stop the tears from falling, Grant can’t answer. Doesn’t know how to answer. All of his feelings feel fake. They don’t feel like his.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>I-I don’t want you to have to worry about me all the time.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” He admits, voice sounding smaller is han normal.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Grant, I’m your dad. I have to worry about you all the time, that’s my job.” Darryl points out, pulling his hand away to pull into his spot in his apartment complex’s parking lot. Once parked Darryl returns his full attention to Grant, shifting to face him, hand back on his shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t-“ he sighs softly. “A parent’s love is unconditional Grant. I will always care about you, I’ll always be worried and I’ll always be here for you.” He assures.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Grant sniffles, dragging his sleeve across his face to look at Darryl. Once he sees the look on Darryl’s face he quickly unbuckles and leans over the side console to hug the other. Feeling his son cry into his shoulder, Darryl completes the hug, pulling Grant onto his lap. It’s been a long time since he’s hugged Grant like this, he must have been seven or eight. As Grant wraps his limbs around his father, Darryl rubs circles into his back. Darryl never understood why his first instinct is to shush Grant when he’s crying. Maybe that’s something that stuck from when he was a baby, when he cried over small things. Cried about wanting to be fed or changed. At the time he assumed the baby stage would be the hardest, from the constant crying and sleepless nights. None of those parenting books told him that 14 years later he’d be having to deal with this. With his child hurting and him being unable to make the hurt leave. He can’t do the trick of putting a bandaid on this, kissing it to make everything all better. Can’t make Grant feel safe by checking in the closet and under the bed for monsters. All he can do is promise that he’s there, promise that he won’t leave.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>kinning grant makes it easy to write fics like this. i just *shoves all my feelings into a 14 year old boy* and then i have a fic!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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